


Kintsukuroi

by losemyselfinthechemicalmoment



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU, Angst, Bass - Freeform, Colors, Eating Disorder, Halsey - Freeform, Hum Hallelujah, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Japanese, M/M, Mikey plays piano, Music, Music Club, Oops, Perfectionism, Pikey, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Words, abusive home life, and everyones kinda sad, and stardust, angsty, based on an actual thing, but that's enough said on that, kintsukuroi, learning bass, lots about stars, lots of references to these songs, perfectionist, petekey, untranslatable word, yes that's what it's called
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:20:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5212556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losemyselfinthechemicalmoment/pseuds/losemyselfinthechemicalmoment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kintsukuroi: to repair with gold; the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken. </p>
<p>or<br/>Pete teaches Mikey how to play the bass in a broom closet, and in the process they both learn a whole lot more.</p>
<p>//angsty Petekey fanfiction in which they try to teach each other how to love themselves a little more //</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kintsukuroi

Mikey never planned to learn the bass. He quite literally fell into it, when he was on his way to collect the keyboard from the storage closet. 

A few lucky twists of faith meant that Mikey, the typical straight-A-student-classical-pianist ended up at a rock music club for teenagers. His mother had heard about a music group for teens that took place reasonably close to where he lived, and made him go, assuming he would meet other classical musicians that would inspire him to practise even more than he already did. She didn’t know that he walked into a room of electric guitars and drum sets and misfits. The whole place smelled of angst and the man who ran the club, Mark, wore a leather jacket and had a Mohawk. Mikey played the keyboard within the club, but so far had not performed at any of the regular open mics they held. Mikey was used to the background. That was where he belonged.

_{At this point, Mikey was a chameleon, morphing into the colour of the walls of every room he entered.}_

The first half hour of the club each week was spent with everyone playing their respective instruments on their own, with the skilled players helping the less experienced ones. The instruments were kept in the broom closet of the prefabs where the club took place, the keyboard on the very top shelf.  
And that was how he ended up in a tangled heap on the floor, his too-long limbs failing him once again as he glared at the shiny black instrument that had caused his literal downfall.   
His glare soon turned to one of curiosity.  
In that moment, Mikey had a decision to make and as he walked out of the broom closet with an instrument that wasn’t a keyboard, he kind of thought he was going mad.

_{he would later learn that self-preservation is the enemy to anything worth doing.}_

“Mark, uh, would it be, uh, okay if I, maybe, uh, tried this out tonight? I can, uh, you know, google stuff, and, uh, give it a try? If that’s okay with you?”  
Mark smiled fondly at the stuttering teenager, who had joined the music club he ran merely weeks before. The kid had talent, he knew that much, and a lot of that was down to hours and hours of practise. But he had that utter reliance and dependence on music that Mark understood too well and he knew Mikey understood that music had the capability to be so much more. And that was why Mark knew that what he was about to say would either end in carnage or be the best decision he made.

_{the stakes were high because what’s life without a little risk?}_

“You know, Pete is an amazing bassist. I can ask him to give you a hand show you the basics. You know Pete, right?”  
Mikey knew who Pete was alright. From the very first night of the club, Pete had caught his eye, the brooding guy dressed in black sitting in the corner, playing his guitar with earphones in, alone. At first, Mikey thought it had to be an act. But then at the first open mic, he was riveted when Pete took to the stage, and even more so when everyone else in the club bit their lips with excitement and anticipation.   
“Wait till you hear him,” Rian, a drummer in the club, whispered to Mikey. “He’s incredible.”

Pete sang with a soulful intensity that snuck into your bloodstream through your ears and took over your body by means of a not entirely unpleasant siege. The whole room didn’t dare to breathe because there was magic in the air and they didn’t want too-loud breaths to disturb it, knock it out of place. His voice made you want to shiver and cry and maybe jump into a river.   
Mikey liked the way his voice sounded and how he treated his guitar strings like they were IV cords. He liked the way Pete’s fringe covered half his face and the way he wore four different layers of black clothing.

_{Mikey didn’t like the way Pete’s left sleeve of his black shirt was constantly pulled up to his knuckles, even when he was playing, but really what more did he expect?}_

“Yeah I do. Like, just from the, uh, the open mic. Yeah.”  
Mark smiled again “I’ll go talk to him, you can just wait in the closet. A fair warning though: Pete is great at music- not so great with people.”  
*  
Mikey stood up when Pete walked into the broom closet, not really sure what to say or do. The two of them stared awkwardly at each other until Mikey thought that maybe he should say something, because Pete sure as hell wasn’t going to.   
And in typical Mikey fashion, he began by apologising .

“I’m really sorry about this-are you sure you don’t mind- like you don’t have to because I know you’re probably busy-I hope I’m not interrupting you-are you sure you don’t mind”  
Mikey thought Pete smiled a bit at his breathless apologetic ramblings but maybe that was just wishful thinking. 

_{it wasn’t.}_

“No, um, its, uh, it’s fine. I, uh, don’t usually do much here anyway”  
Mikey bit back the “Then why do you still come?” question because frankly, he thought he already knew the answer. 

“I’m, uh, a terrible teacher, just to warn you in advance.”

Mikey’s confidence grew now that he knew that Pete was actually able to talk.  
“You’re so goof at guitar and singing though, man. Like seriously, I was blown away by your open mic performances. They were seriously incredible.”

Pete’s eyebrows knotted together   
“I’m really, really not. Seriously. I’m not”

This intrigued Mikey, because Pete’s protesting wasn’t the compliment-fishing kind, but was dripping with a self-hatred that Mikey was all too familiar with. 

_{Well, now they had one thing in common.}_  
*  
Mikey had figured out how to hook up the bass to the amp and was holding it in his hands. Pete fiddled around with the amp for a minute until it screeched and then stopped buzzing. He sat opposite Mikey with his acoustic guitar, showing him the notes of the guitar that Mikey repeated on the bass. Pete seemed pleasantly surprised with how fast Mikey picked it up, even commenting on it. Pete seemed more comfortable with the shield of the instrument and within an hour, not only did Mikey know about ten bass chords but also some more things about Pete. Pete had switched schools last year, his favourite colour was blue and he didn’t realise he was a prodigy. 

He spoke like a prodigy though, stumbling and tripping over his words, his mouth struggling to meet the brain.

_{maybe some of that was the drugs. That’s another thing Mikey learned.}_

Mikey hadn’t realised that ninety minutes had passed until Pete looked at his phone and paled visibly, saying how the time was up, the club was over. Mikey couldn’t believe it- to him, it felt like only ten minutes had passed. 

“Thanks so much, Pete. I’m really, really grateful for that.”

“It was, uh, it was no problem. I’ll see you next week, Mikey”  
Pete walked backwards to the door as he answered, giving Mikey a half smile before leaving. Mikey grinned a little to himself as he returned the bass, cord and amp to their rightful places. He jumped a little when Mark opened the door, arms filled with two cajons and a ukulele. 

“So, what do you think of the bass? Enjoy it? Pete help you out okay?”

“I kind of fell in love with it. It makes me feel warm. Pete was really good at it too, he helped me lots. Thanks, Mark.”

“You know, you can take it home with you, to practise. We get grants to buy these instruments, and they’re just sitting here all week till we show up again. Would you like to?”

Panic momentarily flashed across Mikey’s face before he answered, stuttering again “Thank you for the, um, offer, Mark but, um, maybe not this week, I’m really busy with, um, homework and stuff. Um….. maybe some other time? Thanks for everything, Mark, but I really have to go.”

Mikey left the cabin rapidly, shivering at the cold air and the thought of what his parents would say if he came home with a bass guitar. Jesus Christ.   
Mikey actually wanted to still be alive to see Pete next week.

_{he told himself that that wasn’t the only reason, but he found it rather difficult to add to the list.}_


End file.
